Serene on the surface, seething with desire beneath, Alain Guiraudie’s French thriller Misericordia is fascinatingly strange, creepy, and suspenseful.
Much as the filmmaker’s masterful 2013 thriller Stranger by the Lake planted a sinister seed by setting a serial killer loose in a tranquil outdoor gay cruising spot, here Guiraudie upends a seemingly wholesome homecoming in the countryside with dark undercurrents of sex and violence.
Although, beyond a couple of pointed shots of male nudity and one shot of bleeding, there’s little sex or violence onscreen. Merely the potential for the former and the threat of the latter linger equally over nearly every scene in this odd chamber piece set in a remote village tucked amid the forested hills of Occitanie in Southern France.
Jérémie, portrayed with an intense gaze by Félix Kysyl, returns to his home village from the city for the funeral of his former boss, the town’s devoted baker, who was like a father to him. He’s welcomed with an open heart by the baker’s widow, Martine (Catherine Frot), and received much less warmly by her adult son, Vincent (Jean-Baptiste Durand).
Hints of a brotherly rivalry clearly run deeper, certainly for Vincent, who eyes Jérémie with suspicion from the moment he sees him. Suspicion shifts to outright aggression after Jérémie decides to stay in town for a while in the home of Martine. She’s happy to have Jérémie’s company. He’s out of work back in Toulouse, and, hey, maybe he’ll take over the bakery. None of this pleases Vincent.
Jérémie is also eager to rekindle a friendship with Walter (David Ayala), who happens to be Vincent’s best friend, and to whom Jérémie seems inexplicably attracted. Ayala is especially effective portraying slobbish Walter’s utter confusion over Jérémie’s ardent interest.
Little does Walter know, but inexplicable attraction runs rampant through these hills. Even sly, elderly priest Philippe, played by Jacques Develay in the film’s most complex performance, can’t deny desire. But, of course, desires will be thwarted. Resentments fester, aggression escalates, and someone in this tiny town goes missing.
As suggested by the title, which means “mercy” or “compassion” in Latin, Guiraudie doesn’t just escalate to homicidal intentions but also explores ensuing acts of compassion. Throughout, the script and direction maintain an air of quiet dread, aided by both the commanding presence of Kysyl — serving the unnerving vibe of a young, handsomer Klaus Kinski — and the isolated, pastoral setting.
These verdant woods, brilliantly shot by Stranger by the Lake cinematographer Claire Mathon, are abundant in varieties of morels and mushrooms. So, tromping through the woods is a town pastime, leading many of the movie’s characters searching through the morning mist that clouds the forest. Some go to escape, others to hunt, and not just for mushrooms.
Guiraudie gets maximum mileage out of the photogenic fungi, which, as it turns out, grow extremely well in the soil over a hastily buried body, a dead giveaway to murder perhaps. Ultimately, the local gendarmerie gets involved in the form of an inspector (Sébastien Faglain) and his steady assistant (Salomé Lopes).
Faglain’s droll deadpan performance as the incredibly persistent, slightly insouciant investigator helps bring the movie home with an unexpected comedic twist, which might be the most inexplicable desire of all, but it works.
Misericordia (★★★★☆) is unrated and playing in select theaters, including Alamo Drafthouse Bryant Street, 630 Rhode Island Ave. NE in Washington, D.C. Visit www.fandango.com.
Her parents call her Vivian, but she won't stand for anyone else calling her that. She's Twinkie, a 17-year-old, self-described "master of sarcasm" just poking her head out of the closet in writer-director Sarah Kambe Holland's engaging autobiographical debut feature, Egghead & Twinkie.
Based on Holland's eponymous 2019 short, the feature re-teams Sabrina Jie-A-Fa as baby dyke Twinkie and Louis Tomeo as straight dude Egghead, Twinkie's best friend since fourth grade, when his family moved in across the street.
Now the pair are wading into their last summer together in the Florida burbs before Egghead heads to Stanford to study engineering, leaving Twinkie at home still figuring herself out. She's already figured out that she doesn't want to be like her conservative, yet separated, adoptive Mom (Kelley Mauro) and Dad (J. Scott Browning).
Like life imitating art and art imitating life, Synetic Theater currently has rather a lot in common with the subject of their production of The Immigrant, a riff on Charlie Chaplin and his tragic-comic character known as the Little Fellow.
Not only are Synetic's founders themselves immigrants, but the company is now as homeless as Chaplin's character. Add the fact that the headlines don't go a day without covering the plight of immigrants of all stripes, and it's all happening here under the bowler hat.
Of course, having no space to call home is no laughing matter -- especially since Synetic must move between area theaters, even mid-run, as in the case of The Immigrant. This must be taking its toll.
Many filmmakers draw from the well of their personal heartbreaks in their work, but few do so with the lurid perversity of David Cronenberg.
Forty-six years ago, while going through a bitter divorce, the Canadian filmmaker wrote and directed The Brood, a horror flick in which a woman, loosely based on Cronenberg's ex-wife, asexually spawns a "brood" of dwarf-like murderers who terrorize her loved ones. Cronenberg famously told author Chris Rodley that he found it "satisfying" to shoot the climax, in which the woman's ex-husband ends the carnage by strangling her.
In recent years, Cronenberg, known for nightmarish '80s staples like Videodrome and The Fly, has been dealing with heartbreak of a different sort: the 2017 death of his second wife, Carolyn Zeifman, from cancer. His own grief clearly animates his 23rd feature, The Shrouds, an unflinchingly morbid meditation on loss, decay, and the vulgar nature of remembrance in a digital world -- a project that the 82-year-old director has called "my most autobiographical film."
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